Free It Had to Be You by David Nobbs Page B

the house. Maybe it was Deborah who hadn’t wanted him anywhere near her. He looked at himself again. Nothing a haircut and a good shave and a clean shirt wouldn’t cure. But perhaps he wouldn’t bother. Perhaps he’d go like this and embarrass the bastard.
    Not a bad bastard, though. He wondered whether to ring his ex-wife and suggest that she came too. Melanie had always liked Deborah. If he could see her again, just once, who knew? He looked in the mirror again. No. No chance. Be good to see her, though. Perhaps. Or awful. Oh, hell.
    Fuck them all.
     
     
    He felt a rivulet of sweat running down his back. There were spreading dark stains under his arms. The sun had moved round, and he’d no longer been sitting in the shade, and he hadn’t even noticed. His face was burning, and he had no protection on it. How angry Deborah would have been. ‘Do you want skin cancer?’
    He tried to stand up. The chair came with him. He was stuck to the chair. He had to prise it off.
    And even then it was agonising to stand up straight. His back was so stiff.
    He went, very cautiously, through one or two of the stretching exercises that Gareth had prescribed. Gareth. Should he cancel him on Saturday? And the acupuncturist? No. If they were any use, if they weren’t a waste of money, it was at times like this that they’d be needed. He’d stick to his routine.
    He walked slowly into the blessed darkness of the house, the wonderful coolness of the kitchen, then went into the utility room and drank two glasses of chilled water from the fridge-freezer.
    He entered the sitting room just as Philip was saying, ‘Thank you. Thank you very much for your help,’ and putting the phone down.
    ‘I’ve had enough for one morning,’ said James. He couldn’t believe that it was only two minutes to twelve. He seemed to have been talking for hours. ‘Still a few people to ring, but I can’t take any more. Um … I never drink before twelve, it’s one of my rules, but it’ll take two minutes to pour. Would you like something, Philip?’
    ‘Actually a G and T would go down quite well.’
    ‘Fine. I won’t drink. I’ll only start falling asleep this afternoon if I do.’
    ‘Well, no, if you’re not having one …’
    ‘No, no. You want one. You must. I’m very grateful.’
    He poured Philip’s G and T and opened a bottle of German beer for himself.
    ‘I thought you weren’t drinking.’
    ‘I don’t count beer.’
    Philip raised his eyebrows, which were scanty affairs compared to James’s.
    ‘No need to give me a look. I usually drink too much and in the days to come I’m probably going to drink much too much. Cheers. Thanks for coming.’
    ‘Cheers. Really glad to help.’
    ‘How’s it gone?’
    ‘Not bad. I don’t think there’ll be any real problems. The Hutchinsons were perfectly satisfied with Ferris’s. Well, “efficient and only slightly greasily subservient” were the actual words. It looks as if it’ll have to be Thursday. The vicar can’t do Friday. We could have twelve-thirty or three-thirty. Ferris’s recommend that we get back to them pretty quickly. “Experience shows, Mr Hollinghurst, that we do tend to have a bit of a rush in heatwaves.”’
    ‘Oh, grab twelve-thirty. The sooner the better, on the day. You said “the vicar”. You’ve found one, then.’
    ‘Your local man is the Reverend Martin Vigar. I told him you weren’t religious and he said, “I’m a pretty flexible sort of chap. I was actually thirty-two years with Allied Dunbar before I took up this lark.” I didn’t quite see that that followed, but I didn’t press the point.’
    ‘This “lark”!’
    ‘I know. Not sure I’d want him if I was a fervent believer but he sounds pretty convenient for our job. He asked if you wanted burial or cremation and I had to say I didn’t know. He pushed me very strongly towards cremation – apparently graveyards are bursting at the seams in London. I mean, what do you feel?’
    ‘Oh,